The King sat in his gilded throne, index finger slowly tapping, in time to his heart. Green eyes were glazed, blonde hair disheveled and clearly unwashed, hanging limply around his face. His clothes were wrinkled, as if they had been slept in for several nights, and his boots were a dull matte, unpolished. No longer was the boy a peacock, a physical presence that overpowered others. He seemed to have aged years in the past two nights, and the dark circles under his eyes showed he gotten little to no sleep.

Azreth sat alone in the vast room that was his Audience chamber, having just called for his advisor-slash-chancellor -- and closest friend -- Zel. The guards on either side of the room -- few now, since there were no petitioners come to see the King -- glanced worriedly at one another, knowing their King was not himself, and concerned he would do something stupid. Which was why they had convinced him to actually summon Zel in the first place. They knew losing Valdien -- and Zel losing Zeddler -- was more than hard on the two, leaving empty voids inside of them. And as the idiom goes, misery loves company, so they had -- hopefully correctly -- assumed that the boy and his friend could console one another.

The King took a breath and straightened, lifting a hand and glancing their direction, and the three guards on the left tensed, smiles on their faces, leaning forward in hope that His Majesty would speak to them. When the boy grimaced and closed his eyes, falling into a slump once more, their hearts ached. Not this time. They sighed and stood at attention once more, hoping, praying to whoever would listen that the Alchemist could help the King, and vice versa. The Isle was going to fall apart, and with it, their hope.

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A few months ago, Zel would have jumped at the summons dropping everything on the hastily trained students and aides. Now? He took it as a minor suggestion. Beneath those robes of black and gold, Zel's once lackadaisical nature was locked away, burred in a sea of sorrow, guilt, and numbing pain. And rage. It was a blinding rage that was difficult to keep in check. More often than not, he blew someone out of his apartments with either a giant flaming fireball, a gust of frozen wind, or --his personal favorite-- launched and very pointy icicles. His sanity had been taken from him, that gentile voice that reminded him that everything was going to be okay and he could relax was gone.

Common sense and absolute resolve to destroy this menace and maintain the islands internal political and economical infrastructure kept the Crowned Alchemist and Chancellor from blowing up half the goddamned island when his tea arrived lukewarm instead of scalding hot. Then there was his wife... the human that understood him best that knew his darker secrets and quite frankly laughed at them which was wonderfully humbling. Just that small sliver of light brought him out of his working stupor. The perfectly polished staff appeared in his hand as he stood up, left his office that was so clean a noble could eat off the floor, locked the door and walked to the audience that the child-king was waiting for him in.

Cold and poised, Zel entered without a word, not bothering to bow to the sorry excuse of a ruler. He hadn't shown interest in the kingdom after the fall and it infuriated Zel to the very core. This was the man that was supposed to lead them? This was the man that was to prevent the country to fall into the hands of others? His lips twitched in a disgusted snarl as those shadowed eyes bore holes into the sagging and unclean king. He steeled himself , drummed his fingers on the cold staff he held, and then did he barely bow. Azreth had to prove himself to his once friend, and Zel doubted the boy could even muster enough will to brush his hair.

" Yes?" he said at last, cold and distantly. What nonsense did the boy want to bother him now with, Zel could only wonder. Probably repairing the broken relationship between the two... Zel had more important things to do like run a country and prevent the Lands Below from swallowing their home. " Am I to assume that I was indeed summoned from my duties for an audience? The messenger was mum about the details of what it will entail. Clearly, I was't informed that I could come dressed like a filthy beggar and it would be socially acceptable. "

Azreth swallowed at seeing the hate, the unbridled rage in his friend's eyes. What had happened between them? Sure, he hadn't really led anyone since Val's death, but how could he? Everything hurt, inside and out. And he hated it when he got angry. Sure, the Six deserved to be blasted off of the Isle, but he just couldn't muster the energy to do so. Maybe tomorrow. Or the next day. There would be time for all that, after he stopped hurting.

He looked down at himself, for the first time looking at his clothes, his boots. He frowned, not realizing that he hadn't gotten changed. Green eyes glanced back up at the Alchemist. "Zel..I..I don't know what to do. My heart hurts, and Val's gone." He knew he sounded like a a sniveling child, but he needed direction. He was reduced to the boy he had been before he had found Val, to just after the death of his father. Val had always advised him, as did Zel, and now he had neither. He didn't know what to do, if what he chose would bring his Isle -- his people -- to ruin. "I don't know if I should muster the army and blow up everything, or if I should just give everyone time to start healing before we go into war." He sounded so uncertain, so unsure of the correct course of action.

He wiped a hand across his forehead, straightening slightly. "Thank you for seeing to matters of State in my absence, Chancellor." Zel didn't want to help him. That was plain for anyone to see. The look of disgust on his lips was enough to send the boy's heart back into that void of ice, that uncaring that swept over him. But he steeled his resolve. "I need a report of what you've taken care of, as well as the current situation with the Lands Below and the counselors. I'd also like a meeting called for tomorrow afternoon, so we can..." his voice trailed off and he swallowed. "So I can start trying to make sense of things again." It had been three days. Surely that was enough time for him to mourn, to do nothing? He dropped the mantle of King, his voice losing some of its command. "Zel, I need to get my feet back on the path. I'm out wandering who-knows-where, and have no idea of what's going on. I'm terrified I'll lead everyone into death, that the Isle's economy will plummet and people will go short this winter, some might even starve because of the provisions the army will need. I don't have my strength, my resolve anymore. I just need to find that, and then I can figure out what to do, okay?"

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Azreth had been lucky to never meet Zel while the alchemist had been a student at the Arcanium. This was who he had been all those years ago; a cold, logical, stubborn and uncaring boy. There was a part of him buried beneath that frozen and stubborn mind that wished he could make everything better for the boy---to wave a hand and make this hurt go away. Magick didn't work like that. It never had.

"All matters of state have been taken care of. We have several treaties with the Lands Below regarding excess food shipments as well as armaments in the process. In return, all they ask is to contain this issue. It will be going through the Arcanium. No political ties at all, and they are neutral. " Those guards that had planned this probably felt like fools. Zel had hardly any intention of reacquainting himself with this shell of a person. This child... There wasn't time to deal with this. "The armies are not quite ready. A few more days and we will be able to at least hold the plateau, and send at least a squad to the main trade centers to protect those that are there. I have this reinforcement scheduled for Sunday, the other chancellors have voted upon this and it was passed with only two disagreeing. " Seriously, Zel was finding this conversation vexing. Azreth knew all of this. Ever bit of information Zel had ever gained had been passed along to the king. Azreth was smarter than this... Azreth should be the one swallowing the pain and getting on with the duties, not Zel. 'The Greater Herd is at risk, but we need to protect as many of them as we can. The Nomadic Tribes in the desert have said there is a large gathering in the far south, past the Dead Spires and deep in the heart of the unrelenting sands. We can't touch them there, our resources are too thin right now. We will have to wait and send in our best in groups of two or three to gain a better knowledge of where, what, and why. "

An eye twitched as he watched the King try to man up. Oh, sure. Now he tries to act like a king. White from the strain on the staff, Zel's fingers clenched if ever more as he bit back the urge to just whack the boy over the head a few times. Little arcs of concentrated elements sparked once in a while from the centralized stone. Oh how Zel just wanted to deck the boy, beat him senseless, drag him through the street and then string him up on a flagpole just for this stupidity of laying everything on him, leaving him in the dark, lying to his face, alienating him when he had sworn an oath to protect the person he considered his brother. Even staring at the helpless boy that was pleading for help did nothing but fuel that burning rage and feed that helplessness and uselessness that was consuming the powerful Alchemist. So he didn't want to play formalities anymore? So be it...

"I am not helping you. I am helping your father. You alienated me when I could have helped you. You lied to me. You then forget how to act like a king when your nation needs you most so it all falls on me. I am a sheepherder. I should be back in Nod preparing the village for wartime. I should be with my wife, assuring her that everything will be just fine and that this will pass. " His voice had been rising and finally, he showed his sorrow-wrought rage as he raised and slammed the end of his staff into the stone floor making a loud cracking boom, " Damn you and your bloody crown. You do not have time to mourn. You do not have time to grieve. I have had to lie for you on several occasions in the past day, just in the past day, explaining that you had taken ill and were in your chamber sicker than a dog to keep Ambassadors that would have turned around and brought an entire fleet of airships from the lands below to destroy your family's legacy. After today-- and after this last treaty is signed by Her Holy Empress, Catherine Fieal of Hallowed Kingdoms at high Noon-- I will no longer advise you or run your duties when you are off screwing around instead of doing your goddamned job. "

His eyes narrowed into slits of green, "You are not worthy to have anyone from Arcanium at your side. If it were up to me, I would leave and never return -- Lucky you, the Council finds that it is in their best interest that someone stay. But I will not help you. You hurt me in ways I thought no one could. " The staff was casually dropped, clattering to the floor. The echos were hallowed and filled with pain. Inside, that small voice was screaming at Zel that this was not how it was supposed to go. That he was supposed to appologize for failing... That voice was met with a mental wailing anguish and pain which shut it up quite nicely. Zel folded his arms in those massive sleeves, eyes closed beneath the dark shadow the hood cast as he bit back the strong urge to curl up into a ball and sob.

It was hard to admit that Zel --the all knowing and powerful Alchemist that helped discover the Azrein-- had no clue what he was doing anymore. Nor really what he was supposed to do. Laugh? Laughing didn't seem appropriate. He didn't feel like he wanted to laugh ever again. Death? . . . Death sounded nice...

With each word, Azreth's heart raced. What was he saying? I mean, sure, he did lie to Zel, but that was because he had wanted to avoid Zel disowning him or anything. But why had it come to this? The boy fought down the lump in his throat, visibly wincing when Zel slammed his staff down on the ground. He looked into those green eyes, seeing pain, seeing hate, and he couldn't help himself -- he started crying. He hated this, he hated everything. He just wanted to hug his friend so they could both cry on each other, could console each other. He stood from the throne and half-staggered down the stairs, wrapping his arms around the Alchemist. he felt Zel stiffen against him. His knees gave out and he crumpled to the ground, crying into Zel's legs.

"Zel, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you, didn't mean to alienate you or anything. I was just scared that you'd be mad at me, that you'd hate me, and it happened anyway." He sniffed and pulled himself to his feet. "You're right. I shouldn't have done that. I apologize, Zel." With nothing more, the King turned on his heel, not wanting to further anger his friend. The guards bowed with a clank as he left the room. He staggered in the hall, putting his back against the wall of coarse stone. He took several deep breaths and scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. Zel was right, as much as it hurt. His people needed him now. And he could be King with or without Zel. If the Alchemist didn't want to be his friend, then there was nothing the boy could do about it. He was alone again. No father, no Valdien, no Morpheus, and no Zel. Fine.

He made his way up to his rooms, bellowing at the servants to draw him a bath and set out his clothes. A seething anger raged within him, and he cooled it, imagining himself on a plain of ice and snow, with nothing else in sight. He would stay here and handle everything. He eased himself into the tub, closing his eyes as the servants went about bathing him. The rest of the day he would plan and make ready for war. Tomorrow, they would have a conference and he would give his orders. Until then, all he could do was plan. He didn't need anyone to tell him what to do, and he was smart enough to figure out the right course of action. As much as his heart hurt at losing not only Valdien, but Zel as well, he had to be strong. Strong for the Isle, strong for his people, and strong for himself.

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That simple apology after all that rage spat at the boy--it shook Zel. He didn't move, he didn't even say a word as the boy got up and left. A hand, after several moments, rose from the folds of fabric to brush something from his eyes in a swift and careful motion. He stared at the cast aside staff, neutrally staring at it. "Was I too hard on him?" he asked the guards that remained, his voice wavered, faltering into almost a whisper. "Here I am, an adviser sworn to guide him, and I don't know what to do. Wow, I'm useless." With a heavy sigh, the practitioner stooped, picked up the staff, examined it for any dents, then walked back to his office to change into something less....clean. Ugh...

With the robes gone, and no intention of wearing the red ones for a long time, the alchemist with his bare shoulders, slightly messed up red hair from that hood, and those earrings that symbolized that he belonged to another, walked down the hall towards the spoiled brat's chambers. That ache in his chest was growing, swallowing up the will to work on anything else... And all protocol had already been implemented which was going to be useful now that he pushed Azreth to actually do something. Bathing was the first step. This was good. Well, an improvement. The young king was still brash and would probably have half the kingdom killed had Zel not underhandedly done his best to prevent the interior collapsing. He'd have to see if his work held...

Quietly he spoke with the guards outside. He even managed a small smile for a moment. A brief, sour smile, but a smile, before he opened the doors and ignored the servants cleaning the moron. " I am not done! I still have at least two-hundred more points to go over. Half of them are that you need to find at least someone that can pretend to be a queen, which you keep brushing off like its the plague. You are not leaving the castle. Final. I don't care that you hold the damn seat of power, but I swore I would keep you safe and goddamnit if I have to impose martial law, I will. " Okay, so that wasn't the best opening lines, or set of lines, but Zel was still angry. It had been tempered watching the boy break down in tears and even had stilled that anquished pain for a moment more. Just enough to collect his mind once more and realize that even if he wasn't really happy, he was going to at least try to joke... Keyword Try. It was eating him alive as it reminded him of Zeddler.

Azreth blinked, tilting his head back to glance at Zel. Well, this time Zel came to him. That had to be an improvement, right? He couldn't help but groan. "Everyone and their mother -- especially their mother -- is telling me I should marry! Sure, maybe one day I'll find a lovely lady to be my bride, but I cannot sire an heir with war on the horizon. There's absolutely no way I can give a woman the attention she needs when I'm gallivanting off into the sunset with a sword in hand and covered in blood. What a nice honeymoon that'll be," He snorted derisively. Contrary to his tone, he felt the ghost of an amused smile tug at his lips. It was good to see Zel rankled about something -- even if it were him -- without that look of hate in his eyes. And now they were back onto familiar territory. "And do you mind telling me how exactly I'm supposed to run a war sequestered here in my tall tower like a princess?" he arched an eyebrow and waved away the servants, dunking his soapy head under the water.

He took the proffered towel as he stepped out, drying his hair before wrapping it around his waist. He covered a yawn with his hand as he looked at the clothes the servants had set out for him -- too dull. Turning his back on his friend, he picked through his closet, choosing an outfit that complemented his hair and eyes, along with some lacey frills. That should do it. Getting dressed, he glanced over at Zel. "We need to hold a memorial service to those who Fell. I want to hold it the morning before we march, to rile up the hearts and emotions of the army and the people. Before I hopped in the bath, I sent a runner to marshal the navy -- the airships will be armed and ready to fly in two days." He gave a smug smile. "I also received a message from the arms-master, and he said that the generals were all hand-picked and that you and I will go over them and their merits tomorrow at one sharp. Which thankfully gives me time to sleep, since dreams have been avoiding me like the plague." He slipped on his heeled boots and straightened, striding over to the mirror. Well, he at least looked more like himself. He turned on his heel and couldn't help but smile at Zel.

"And I don't care how mad you are at me, but I will be leaving this castle to lead my men, and you're gunna plop your ass on a horse or borrowed Azrein and be there right beside me. You need to lead those with the Skill during the battles anyway. So we'll see to all the preparations, and I want you and the Professor to handle the memorial. I'll write the speech I'll give tonight, but I do want that done the morning before we march." He didn't want to tell Zel how happy he was that Zel had sought him out. It had always been him doing the searching, and even if the man was still spitting mad at him, it meant somewhere deep down, the Alchemist didn't really want to let him go. And that meant more to the boy than anything else ever could.

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Zel blinked, his mouth fell open and he raised a hand to protest about how his honeymoon went exactly like that and they were fine! Granted they had a rather large argument about the bandits that had decided to capture both of them when the airship crashed, and why killing was wrong and shouldn't be done to save someone that could put a bullet between their eyes without looking... "Then find a woman that wouldn't mind that? . . . Wait no, you folk are all about blood aren't you? Bah... " Although the territory was familiar, Zel wasn't really enjoying it. It was work. Rote... Autopilot. "Use your charming wardrobe as flags. See? That'll work. That coat you have is bright enough to see for at least five miles. " Zel let out a sigh of relief once Azreth decided to temporarily drown himself and ran a hand over his face and found himself instinctively drawn towards the shelves filled with knicknacks and books. A really strong drink sounded great right now.

"Would you stop that? Take what they offer you. Its clean. You .. augh. Never mind. " Zel found himself staring with a slight frown on his face. An eyebrow started rising on its own as he listened to the boy prattle off what he had done. Mentally Zel was checking off things he had already done. The armada was going to arrive tomorrow, actually. Who had hand picked the generals again? Oh right him while he was seething and throwing people out of windows. His mind tuned out but then it got brought back from spinning about what type of drink he wanted to drown in. A speach? Crap, he forgot about the public announcment thing. "Oh, um... Yeah good idea. "

Battle? With him? After Zel nearly wanted to kill the king for being stupid? Talk about a bad idea. Zel ran a hand over his face and pointed at the more appropriately dressed man, " I am not riding into battle. I am not leading anyone that isn't four legged and goes 'baah'. I am going to go to the nearest pub and get shitfaced for the next month once I walk out those gates. " The frustration and rage was building up again, and Zel had to take a breath lest he did something stupid. Punching the freshly dressed king would be one of them. So would stealing a shoe and tossing it out of the window. Actually that sounded like a better plan. " Enjoy your country, but I was serious when I said I wasn't going to advise you any more in matters of state. I'm not a noble. Never have and never do I ever want to be...Don't you even think about it, I will turn you into a goldfish! "

Threats, threats, threats. Well, at least he was threatening instead of just being silent and scowling. The King sat down in an armchair, crossing his arms. "Zel, I know you just want to go back and tend to your flock. But the Isle needs you. And I need you. I can't do this on my own. I'd be chasing my socks, confident they were enemies. I can barely put my crown on straight without you" He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. [color=white]"And who else is fit to lead those with the Skill? I certainly can't do it, and you know I don't trust the Magi. It needs to be you. Do it or else I will give you a title, and then you'd have to deal with hordes of servants and retainers.[/i]

Azreth pointed over at a bottle of fine liquor, with two tumblers set beside it. "So get yourself a drink now, and let's talk about what we're going to do, then. I need to know everything that's been done, and even though your mad at me, we both have a duty to the Isle. You put your foot in it when you stopped me from cracking my head open six years ago, and we both have to see it through til the end. Once everything quiets down, you can go be a shepard and spend the cold nights wrapped in the arms of your wife. But until then, we have a country to run."

Though his words were demanding, Azreth only wanted his friend back. He desperately wanted -- needed -- to show Zel that he could do what needs doing, and that he wouldn't be an insolent brat for the rest of his life. But more than that, his people needed him.

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Something was very wrong. Azreth was making fun of himself. Socks? Socks were the enemies now. This was alarming. This was concerning... He let out a snort of mirth and instantly regretted it. Not because the mental image was funny, laughter was what kept him grounded and he couldn't be grounded right now. There was still so much to do. So much to plan... By the nine gods, he wanted to just blow this entire castle up...wait, could he? Zel's train of thought teetered away then ground to a screeching halt when he was threatened with a title and all that went with it. He already had that long and drawn out title just by being the Crown Alchemist. Zel set his jaw and glared at the king--like it was going out of style. " Do that, and I swear by my blood that you'll regret it. "

It was looking like Zel still had to do everything. Wait, he had already done that. Everything was done. As he reached for that bottle and a glass, he paused stared at Azreth and gestured to the massive stack of papers. "Logged, dated, signed, and anotated. Everything from balancing taxes, summoning the fleet so that they'll arrive tomorrow, doubling the guards and training, sending off for a few extra hands from the Arcanium, contracting weapons with the republic Below, organizing the retaliation and setting rations for the city and outlaying areas. I have no income anymore, but as I can still gain good money from my flock, I don't see how it matters. Now your clothing budget has been slashed into a sixteenth of what it was before. Edward has trained quite a few good archers, but they're untested on the back of horses. We will not be letting chosen and their Azrein into battle just yet. Give it a week before we let them enlist while we brief them on what may happen,and then I'm sure they'll be fine to go off to battle and get themselves slaughtered. " Zel's mind was wandering away with him as he poured himself a drink. It was swirling to grief as he'd been so busy to really notice just how depressed and torn his soul really was. Now that he was listing all that he had done, he felt exhausted.

What wasn't mentioned were the countless treaties that kept the lands below from rising up and attacking them in case Azreth did a stupid political move. The gods knew it was only a matter of time before something snapped and he'd go charging off and doing something really, really stupid. Taking a sip, Zel grimaced, " The hell is this?! It tastes like Nam's cough syrup."